Out of Time
by bowtiewearingowl
Summary: When given the chance to take a break from work Kurt Hummel flies off to France and ends up stuck in the 19th century, lost in a foreign time with no idea how to get back, caught in a web of lies and seduction that could end up costing him his life.
1. New York to Marseille through Paris 2011

**Title:** Out of Time

**Author:** antifairytale

**Rating:** NC-17 (For later chapters)

**Word count:** 3,600+

**Warnings:** Swearing, mentions of prostitution and slavery, homophobia, sexual situations

**Summary:** Upon taking a break from work Kurt Hummel finds himself stuck in 18th century France stuck in a foreign land and time with no friends and no idea how to get back.

**Notes:** Glossary for some words will be found at the bottom after author's notes

.01

New York to Marseille by way of Paris 2011

_Dark hands slipped down slender pale hips, shadows against white silk. A voice, deep and sensual, like dark chocolate, murmured promises of love and pleasure against a hip then slipped up to tease a nipple lightly while the object of his affection writhed underneath. Those hands were like sin, rough and weathered by hard work but whispered across his legs like the feathers of a dove. All the sensations hit him, engulfing his body and cradling him tenderly as a hard heat slipped in, wrenching a groan from his lips. "Soon," the voice whispered, "Verra soon." It was a promise he couldn't wait to see fulfilled._

An escape to Paris had an incredibly romantic ring to it. The idea of wandering through the old streets and taking in true fashion and culture sounded wonderful and beautiful to the overworked and wholly alone. It was a way of taking sanctuary away from the horrors of everyday life—a way to hide away in a fairytale land filled with incredibly sexy accents and even sexier men.

Well, that's the way it seemed to one Kurt Hummel who had never left the United States of America. Being the lowly assistant to one of the biggest fashion designers in the world had its perks but left him horribly busy and gave him zero chances to meet any guys. So, the idea of slipping off to a land full of sensual men gave him something to really think about.

It was about three years into his job working for a very smart and stylish woman who had sort of taken Kurt under her wing when Kurt finally lost his footing. He'd been a scared little boy when she met him, just out of college and in New York for the first time ever, desperate for work—any sort of work. She trained him in her image and kept him busy. So busy in fact that his longest relationship had been with an anthropology/history student studying life in 18th and 19th century Europe. It lasted a total of three months.

The man had raved about the country and its origins, planting the seed of travel-lust in his mind. Kurt wanted to go to Europe, experience culture and true fashion. New York was fun but it wasn't _Europe._ He wanted to be surrounded by men with sensual accents and scandalous eyes and lean bodies. Kurt was desperate to leave.

When the chance to escape finally arrived he thought, "Why not?"

Everyone took notice that something was wrong with Kurt when it became evident that he had being as meticulous in his skin care regiment. He was overworking himself to the point that he no longer got his full eight hours of sleep and suddenly had dark circles under his eyes. No one said anything until about two weeks into this nonsense.

Kurt had been at his desk, desperately trying to get a hold of a specific type of fabric for his boss when the woman in question stopped before him and slapped travel brochures onto the surface. "Take two weeks off Kurt, I don't want to see you looking like this anymore." She waved a light hand at him in explanation, "I will cover the expenses as long as you promise to actually vacation and leave the work here. You need to be ready for our fall shoot in a month. It's going to be hard." Kurt tried hard to contain his glee until she wandered away. Once she was gone he snatched up the pamphlets and flipped through them; Italy, England, _France._

When he finally decided where he wanted to go he made a goal of calling his family to alert them of his decision. His dad was more than just a little annoyed.

"Two weeks in France? Why? They're all snobs over there."

Kurt wrinkled his nose at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he cradled his phone against his shoulder. "That's ethnocentric dad," He said, proud that he'd learned something from his ex-boyfriend.

"Whassat mean?" Burt asked gruffly.

With a sighed Kurt replied, "It means you make a generalized assump- never mind. As for why; why not?" He said, finishing up his nightly moisturizing routine and returning to his room.

"Do you even know how to speak French?" His dad asked.

"Yes dad, I'm fluent actually. Remember I took three years in high school and four years in college?" He knew his dad didn't remember but he was still proud of the fact and he wanted to show off his ability. It was well known that he couldn't exactly use his skills in America.

Burt grunted again, "For two weeks?"

With a tight movement Kurt settled in the chair near his bed. "Well, one week in Paris and then one week using the Europass to check out some of the other countries. It's all in the budget that my boss set out for me."

"And that's another thing," Burt started, "Your boss is paying for the whole thing? You sure this isn't like some sort of bribe for her to, y'know?"

Kurt took a moment to process before letting out a disgusted noised, "Oh my God no! Dad, she knows I'm gay and she's very married. This probably going to be the last vacation I'll ever take but it is so worth it. I promise to get you and Carole and Finn something really nice. Listen dad, I need to get some sleep; I have work in the morning. I'll call before I leave, I promise."

Burt was silent for a moment, "Fine, but promise me you'll be careful, okay Kurt?"

"Yeah dad, I will, I love you." Kurt said, letting a soft smile caress his lips.

"Love you too dad." He said, hanging up.

In a whirlwind of time Kurt found himself on a plane, jetting off to his fancy hotel in Paris. When he arrived Kurt was immediately surrounded by more culture than he could ever imagine. He wandered the streets with ease, getting stopped by men whose eyes raked down his figure in a most alluring way. Honestly, Kurt had never felt sexier. He visited the Louvre and the Eiffel tower, all the most popular tourist spots. He shopped for hours on end, practically living in some of the shops. He never wanted to leave.

It wasn't until one night when he stood at his balcony staring out over the streets of Paris that Kurt felt something tugging at him. It was a light tugging, almost like a child pulling at the fabric of his shirt. He cast a curious glance around the room, setting his glass of wine to the side. The place was empty but the moment he stepped away from the balcony he felt a tugging to his right and stepped in that direction.

Kurt followed stopped in front of his bureau where he'd set a bunch of travel guides for cities in France. One lay on the floor, open to a specific page and Kurt picked it up. The book was for the city of Marseille describing a bastide near the Jardin de la Magalone. Kurt read over it quickly and felt another tugging - only this time it came from his heart.

A moment later Kurt found himself on his laptop, searching through the internet for train tickets to Marseille. He didn't even care that less than thirty minutes earlier Kurt had felt no need to ever leave Paris ever again—especially not to visit a city almost three hours away by train. But now everything felt different and he knew he just needed to leave.

In the morning Kurt packed a bag for three days and hopped on a train to Marseille. He slept the majority of the way there, only waking when he felt another tug at his heart. It hurt like the ache after a break up and the yearning after a new attraction. Kurt begged for the pain to stop and a part of him told him the only way to make it stop was to go to that bastide.

He arrived mid-morning and went straight to his hotel, leaving his bag. Kurt freshened up, showering to get the train smell off him then dressed in one of his best pairs of jeans along with his boots and a blue shirt that clung to him sinfully well and showed off the blue side of his eyes. Finally he added a scarf and was off.

Kurt slipped through the streets of Marseille, asking for help from passersby. They were kind and pointed him in the right direction. Apparently, the home he was looking for was well known. Finally he arrived at the building and the tug hit him so hard he almost doubled over in pain. One man stopped to help him but Kurt only wheezed a little before smiling and thanking him for his concern and went inside, the slow ache reverberating in his chest.

Just inside the front door was a woman who looked thoroughly bored. He spoke to her in fluent French, "One for the tour, when does it start?"

She barely glanced at him as she gave him he paid the entrance fee and gave him his tour guide book. "This is a self-guided tour. Do not touch the paintings or furniture because sensors will go off. Do not touch anything, this is not a hands on exhibit." She said mechanically as she gave him his change.

Kurt was annoyed at her curt manner but moved on into the house. Once he was allowed to roam free he found he was alone in the picturesque building.

The walls were lined with paintings from the 17th century to the early 20th. Plaques read out information about the time and the culture and spoke of the lady who owned the home, a widow when she arrived who was taken in and then later the house was willed to her. She ran it well and had a long line of wealthy and famous guests that filtered through. The woman, known as Madame Fabray, was healthy and often used strange methods of healing people that led some to believe she was a witch. When she died at the age of 36 she gave the house to a Scotsman who many claimed was her lover and he ran the house until his assumed death two years later. The man was only assumed dead because his body was never found. He never had an heir and instead had willed the house to the child of a prominent entertainer and singer of the time. Fabray had a contentious relationship with the singer, a Missus Berry from England but put up with her because many said Fabray had also had relations with Missus Berry's lover, Monsieur Puckerman—who hailed from the New World.

Kurt marveled at the depth of the rumors and claims that were hidden in this house. Each room was furnished a little differently, the lady Fabray's room being the most glamorous, garnished in red and gold imported from Paris. The guest bedrooms were all different colors and it was assumed that the guests were placed in specific rooms depending on what colors suited them the best.

As Kurt moved up the stairs to the second floor of the room he felt the light tugging again of a child's hand. It pulled him to a room at the far end of the house with a slightly closed door. He felt a tingle run through his fingers as he pushed open the room. Slowly Kurt slipped in and another tug wrenched his heart, causing him to grow woozy. His entire body ached and tingled, as if it was waking up from having fallen asleep.

Kurt wobbled a little before moving to sit on a tired looking little chair near the door. He knew he wasn't supposed to be sitting on the furniture but it was better than having someone find him passed out on the floor. As his head began to clear he glanced around the room which was less elaborate than the others. It was furnished in burgundy with a simple bed and bureau and a window. Something like a green plaid sash hung over a chair with a pair of well-worn work boots tipped on their sides. There were no plaques or electric lighting like the other rooms; only a candle sat on the top of the bed side table. Kurt wondered who had lived in this room or if this person was another, less prominent, guest.

Something at the window caught his attention and he slowly staggered towards it, staring out through the slightly warped glass. The landscape had changed. Things looked smaller and less _new_. And was that a _carriage_ rolling down the street? Kurt pressed his forehead hard against the glass and tried to get a better look. Where were the cars and the people and was that woman wearing a bustle?

A soft cough startled Kurt and he jumped, spinning around to face the doorway. A man stood there watching him. It was hard to make out his features but Kurt could see dark curly hair and simple clothing—like something out of an old movie. "Is there something I can help ye with, laddie?" The man asked, his voice thick with a Scottish brogue.

Kurt tried to stand up tall but he suddenly felt very weak, like something large and constant was pressing down on him. "I am so sorry sir, I know I'm not supposed to touch things or sit on the furniture but I was feeling woozy and needed to sit down. I can just leave now. I am very sorry." Kurt moved to leave and stumbled a little and the man caught him by the arms. Quickly Kurt looked up and found himself staring into hazel eyes surrounded by tanned skin.

"Ye sure yer right laddie?" The man asked, carefully setting Kurt on his feet. Kurt nodded quickly, taking a step towards the door.

"Yes, just fine. I'll be going now." He slipped out into the hallway and stopped. Everything was different, even the wallpaper. The man came up behind him and settled his hand heavily on Kurt's shoulder.

"I think I should take ye to Madam Fabray," Kurt mind sparked at the name.

"Madam Fabray? You've got to be kidding me. This is a big joke. Play a prank on the American tourist, right?" He asked, whirling around to stare at the man. The fellow in question looked worried and now that they were in a better lit hallway Kurt could see the almond shape of his eyes and triangular shaped eyebrows that could do with a good plucking. He was a good three inches smaller than Kurt but stockier.

Dark eyebrows knitted together. "I was wonderin' if ye're American," He murmured before restating that Kurt needed to be taken to Madam Fabray. Cautiously he started trying to encourage Kurt to move forward but at that moment Kurt wrenched away from him and took off running down the hallway to the stairs and out the front door. In the back of his mind something made him realize that the girl at the front desk was missing… as well as the front desk itself.

Out in the street Kurt stumbled slightly against the cobble stone (that definitely hadn't been there earlier). He glanced both ways and found people in strange, old fashioned garb and coaches pulled by horses. Kurt's panic hit the ceiling and he sprinted down the street of this alien city. The buildings that he had passed on his way to the Fabray bastide were different now - newer and smaller, and the people he passed all dressed the same. Kurt didn't stop running until he reached the docks. His nose filled with the overpowering aroma of dead fish but he didn't stop until he reached the end of one rickety dock.

Before him floated a massive ship with large men stand onto and tossing barrels over the edge at even larger men down below. Kurt forced himself to calm and try to get oriented. Pulling his map from his back he tried to figure out how to get from the docks to his hotel. According to the map it said he needed to head to the left but the only problem was a house suddenly stood there, massive and solid, blocking his way.

Kurt felt stuck and terrified and let out a shriek as large hand collapsed on his upper arm. He looked up to find a brutish face leering at him. "You seem lost monsieur," The man growled out in French. "Such a pretty face, I thought you were a girl at first—but no respectable girl wears men's clothing. Unless she has a price on her head," Kurt gulped and tried to pull away. The man refused to let go and called to another brute farther down the dock who came storming towards them, all the while Kurt struggled against his captor's grip. "What do you think Andre? Male or female?" he asked tauntingly.

The other, Andre, sneered and reached out a hand to grope Kurt hard enough to cause him to cry out. "Male, definitely." Kurt struggled and kicked out viciously.

"Let go of me you fucking brute!" He screamed, pulling away as hard as he could. Kurt was sure he would have a bruise there later.

Kurt's captor laughed, "And a feisty one too. Too bad though. I could have had fun if he was a girl. But I bet he could catch a fair price in the Orient."

Kurt gaped at the men, "You can't sell me into slavery! It's illegal!" There was a beat of silence then the two men erupted into peals of laughter.

Andre, who probably weighed a good 150lbs more than Kurt, leered at him, barring yellowed teeth. "Who told you that? I've never had any tell me tha-" He stopped speaking and narrowed his eyes at the even bigger man holding Kurt. "Oi, what's wrong with you?"

Kurt almost asked what Andre meant but a second later the sailor holding his arms released him and fell to the ground face first. If Kurt hadn't been so scared he would have taken off running by now, but his attention was drawn to the dagger sticking out of his assailant's back. Andre was quicker than Kurt to respond and lurched for whoever had hurt his friend.

Andre reeled back a second later, holding his eye and howling in pain. His assailant launched another attack, punching him in the stomach with a solid fist before yanking his dagger from the man on the ground and grabbed Kurt's hand, yelling "Run!" Kurt recognized him from the Fabray bastide.

They dashed off, back down the street that Kurt had just come and didn't stop until the sounds of the dock disappeared completely, engulfed by the city. The strange man cleaned off his dagger with a handkerchief from his pocket before sliding it safely into its sheath at his hip. The sight of the dagger sparked Kurt's memory, "You just killed that man!"

Hazel eyes narrowed at him, "Nah, just knocked him out. If ye didn't dinna notice he was about to hurt ye something right. I saved yer life, ye ken," The man spit out, straightening his shoulders and looking rather miffed—as if he'd expected Kurt to thank him profusely.

Instead Kurt started to hyperventilate and freak out. "What the fuck is going on here? Is this some sort of practical joke because it is _not _funny."

The guy sighed, "I dinna ken what you mean by joke but there is no need for vulgar language, ye ken."

Kurt gaped at him, "Where the hell am I?"

"Marseille." His eyes narrowed once again, "Where are ye from laddie?" Kurt didn't answer him, instead he grabbed a newspaper by a passer-by and ripped it open for a date because this couldn't be real, it just couldn't. Finally his eyes stopped at the top of the page where a date was neatly printed.

Marseille, France. 24 Juillet 1811.

Kurt didn't recall hitting the pavement or his head hitting the cement. All he could see were those four numbers printed before his eyes; _1811_.

* * *

><p>I know, I know, I know. I promised I'd work on 'Debutante' and 'Cagebird' but I'm having so much trouble focusing on them. This was just banging at my head telling me I needed to write it, and unlike 'Skin and Bones' I actually have a story plan. Also, I have an amazing beta, Kat (pocketwatchesandbowties . tumblr . com) who is brilliant.!<p>

I should warn you, I basically have very little information about the 19th century and the stuff I do have was scrounged up through internet research. If any of you have information you think I should know then please, don't hesitate to tell me!

I really hope you like this! Don't forget to leave me a little review or comment to tell me what you think. I can also be found on Tumblr at antifairytale . tumblr . com. See you around!

Glossary

**Ken:** know

**Bastide**: Large provincial home


	2. Marseille 1811

**Title:** Out of Time

**Author:** antifairytale

**Rating:** NC-17 (For later chapters)

**Word count:** 4,100+

**Warnings:** Swearing, mentions of prostitution and slavery, homophobia, sexual situations

**Summary:** Upon taking a break from work Kurt Hummel finds himself stuck in 18th century France stuck in a foreign land and time with no friends and no idea how to get back.

**Notes:** Glossary for some words will be found at the bottom after author's notes

.02

Marseille 1811

There were voices above Kurt but he couldn't quite make out what they were saying. One voice seemed familiar and deep while the other one was lighter, more feminine. For a moment Kurt wondered if Finn was there, but why in the world would Finn be in Paris with him because that would be absurd; Finn hated traveling. Slowly his mind began clear and he could understand what they were saying.

"-you sure one of the brutes didn't harm him at all?" A woman asked.

"Aye, I'm sure. They dinna have a chance to get him," There was a pause from the man. "Ye sure he's right?"

"Yes, just a little shocked. I'll take care of him. You set up the bed in the blue suite," There was silence for a moment and then the woman spoke up again. "He's gone; you can open your eyes."

Kurt realized she was talking to him and tried to do as she suggested. "I don't think I can." The woman chuckled and placed her hand lightly behind his head to help him sit up.

"I'll going to dab your face with water and then you can try again," she said by means of a warning before the cloth touched his face. Kurt was half tempted to tell her not to because that might ruin his complexion and dry out his skin, but the water helped clear his mind a bit more and he slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was the room. It was richly decorated in a sea blue color with gold touches and books lining the walls. It was elegant without going into the obnoxious. As his eyes traveled the room he didn't notice the girl sitting to his side until she cleared her throat for his attention. She was very pretty, maybe his age or a little older with sun blonde hair and brown eyes that bordered on green in the lighting. The woman was smiling at him brightly as she wrung out the cloth and reached out to brush his forehead once more. "You had quite the shock earlier. I'm glad Blaine was able to catch up to you, it would have been so tragic to have you fall into those heathens' hands."

"Blaine?" Kurt asked blearily.

The woman waved lightly to the door. "The monsieur who brought you back here after you bolted. You must have had quite a fright, which is understandable why you'd run back to the docks."

Kurt gave the woman a bewildered look and she continued with this excited glint in her eyes. "You're American, no?" Kurt nodded his head, "Well, from what I can gather you must have been stowing away on one of those ships, escaping from America and when you arrived here you were muddled and ended up at my home where Blaine found you," Kurt's thoughts were too disconnected to try to tell her she was wrong, so he nodded absently. His entire body hurt and his limbs felt so weak.

She looked delighted that her idea had been correct and leaned forward, the glint in her eye turning almost manic. "And you're trying to escape for your upper-class father who wanted you to marry when you don't want to. Well, I'm more than happy to let you stay in my humble abode as long as you like," She went on airily and Kurt wondered if the idea of harboring a runaway was what was exciting her so much or if it was something else entirely.

Kurt decided he needed to play along until he figured out what was happening and smiled wearily. His mouth opened and the words slipped out, unrehearsed and honest. Kurt had no idea where this was coming from but he let his thoughts flow. "I'm surprised you guessed my story so quickly."

The woman tilted her head to the side and gave a quaint smile. "It's really not an unusual tale. Many people slip off to here to escape familial obligations. I could tell that you're high class by your clothing, it's very well made and fits you perfectly—but it's not exactly the style now. I'll have Blaine lend you some of his clothes, even if they might not fit as well since Blaine is so much smaller than you."

Kurt was having so much trouble keeping up with this woman. The aching in his body was making his arms feel light, almost like they were going to float away at any moment. It was a disconcerting feeling and he held his arms close to his side as a precautionary measure. "Thank you madam. I appreciate your help but I don't think I even know your name."

She held out her hand and Kurt eyed it for a moment, trying to gauge if he was quite up to taking it. Finally he decided to bite the bullet and reached out for her hand. She gave him a toothy smile and nodded. "Madam Fabray but if you would please call me Quinn. And you are?"

"Kurt Hummel," He pressed a cordial kiss to the back of her hand, the way he'd seen the dandies do in movies then let his hand fall back to the bed, gripping a sheet to stop it from shaking. "I can't thank you enough for your hospitality. I wish I knew how I could repay you for your kindness; I have very little money and all of it is American."

Quinn waved him off with a delicate flick of her wrist and stood, extending her arm for Kurt to take. "You don't have to worry about money. As long as you're here you're a guest and if you wish to be of service you can help Blaine with the home chores," Kurt got out of the bed unsteadily and took her arm, clinging to it as his legs shook a little beneath him. He felt that pressure again, pushing against him, trying to force him to the floor once more.

"I didn't think I'd find such marvelous hospitality when I arrived," Kurt commented, trying to remain in the character that Quinn had inadvertently set out for him. His voice shook with the effort of concentrating on speech while his entire body fought to remain upright.

Quinn shrugged lightly, oblivious to his struggle, and escorted him down the hall all the while not mentioning how he practically use her arm to hold up his entire body. Lightly she pushed open a door to a soft blue room Kurt vaguely remembered looking through on his tour earlier. "I understand how hard it is to be displaced, away from where you're safe," She gave him a wicked smirk. "And anyway I think there's something romantic about harboring runaways."

Quinn stepped away a moment later. "This is where you'll be staying. I'll have Blaine bring you some clothes for later and then in a few days you can accompany me to the tailors and we'll find some clothes for you that are more suited to the style. Dinner will be in the dining room and we will talk more then. Now, I have some business to attend to. If you're feeling well enough you can explore the house, Blaine should be around if you have any questions; I'll send him your way to collect you for dinner." She stepped away from him and curtsied before leaving the room.

The second the door closed Kurt's eased to the bed, his entire body shuddering from the stress. There was pain everywhere, knocking his breath from his lungs. He had no clue how long he sat there as his body shook but finally he gathered his wits and told himself he needed to figure out what was going on. Slowly he got up and glanced out the small window in the corner. The same view greeted him with its cobblestone streets and lanterns blossoming into light as the sun began to set.

As strange and illogical as it seemed Kurt was in 1811 or he was having a really realistic dream that actually hurt him - not the kind of hurt that a person assumes they feel in a dream, but an actual _throbbing_ in his head and arms. He didn't know how he got there or what to do to get back but he knew he needed to find a way. Until then he needed to blend in and not draw attention to himself, the only problem was Kurt knew nothing about history. The good thing was Quinn had set out his cover for him, however inadvertently.

Kurt found it odd that he wasn't more freaked out. He felt tired, yes, so tired that his legs actually gave out on him, but not scared. He supposed that he hadn't given himself enough time to freak out and it would come sooner or later but not quite yet. With shaking body he made his way out of the room and back through the hallway. Everything was new, not yet worn down by centuries of foot traffic or hands touching the wallpaper. _So strange_.

Carefully Kurt picked his way down the stairs until he was in the main room of the bastide. It was odd not hearing the sounds of honking cars outside but he tried to push that aside and forged on through the multiple rooms of the main floor, each one more elegant than the last. Kurt started making note of the location of different doors to remember. He needed to leave and a voice in the back of his mind told him that he wouldn't be able to leave of his own volition if anyone else knew. Kurt didn't feel safe in this house, no matter how much Quinn promised him he was.

A soft scent wafted through the air, catching Kurt's attention as he investigated the southern parlor of the home. It smelled sweet and made his mouth water. He was reminded then that he hadn't eaten since lunch in 2011 and went in search of the dining room so he would know where to go when dinner came around. He hoped it was soon because he was starving.

As it turned out it wasn't that far off and lavishly decorated like the rest of the rooms. A servant was setting the table with fine china decorated with fine blue illustrations. The man bowed silently to Kurt who awkwardly bowed his head back before slipping off towards a door he'd glimpsed, hidden behind an ornamental screen.

The room behind was a large kitchen and was mainly empty save for a blonde girl in the corner dressing a plate filled with some sort of meat. Kurt moved closer to her and then cleared his throat for attention. She didn't jump at the noise and instead turned around and blinked at him owlishly. "Bonjour," Kurt said lightly, trying to start some sort of conversation.

"Bonjour," the girl replied in a somewhat dreamy voice.

Kurt tried again. "I'm Kurt; you are?"

She stared at him for a moment later before the light bulb seemed to click. "Brittany. You're the ship rat Blaine said was going to stay here." Her French was weak and there seemed to be a bit of an Irish accent hiding in there. "Did you bring the plague with you?"

"Ship rat? _Plague?_" Kurt asked, feeling incensed at being referred to in those terms. "I can assure you that I am not a rat and I haven't been sick a day in my life," He answered haughtily.

Brittany looked pleased. "That's good. I didn't think you looked like much of a rat. You remind me more of the Wee folk. You're one of them, aren't you?"

"The Wee folk?" Kurt asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. She continued to stare at him excitedly.

"Ach, the wee folk. Sprites and fairies and such," voice said behind Kurt, making him jump and his shoulders tense. Blaine appeared at his elbow a moment later, chuckling. Brittany seemed pleased to see him, a small smile forming on her lips. "Could ye take the food to the table lassie? Madam Fabray wants to start dinner." Brittany nodded and hefted the plate, rounding the men and leaving the room.

Kurt turned to look at Blaine and demanded, "Is she serious?"

"About ye being one of the Wee folk?" Blaine asked, quirking a triangular eyebrow. "Aye. The girl is dear but a little daft. She believes that elves live in my hair," he raised a hand to his mess of curls, grinning good-naturedly. "I find it best to humor the lass." A beat of awkward silence passed before Blaine spoke up again. "Madam Fabray requested that I escort ye to the table. Took me a right time to find ye, are ye sure ye're up to traipsing 'bout the house?"

Kurt ruffled a little at the other man. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine." He ignored the arm that Blaine extended and strutted off through the hidden door to the dining room. Quinn was standing near the doorway, apparently waiting for the two men because when they entered she hurried forward to stand near a chair. Blaine hustled to her side and obediently slid her chair out for her and once she'd settled, pushed it back in before taking his seat at the side of the table. She motioned to a chair across from her and Kurt did as directed.

She said a quick prayer and then said a thank you for bringing a guest into her home. Kurt honestly found it incredibly fishy but said nothing until she was done. Quinn gave him a look as a servant started to parse out the food to each plate. "Now Kurt, tell me about your family," She said, more an order than a request.

Kurt frowned at her silently for a while before murmuring. "I'm not sure if I'm quite ready to give out that information," His eyes slid to the darker haired man off to the side who was studiously not looking at any place other than his plate.

Quinn settled in her seat daintily. "That's quite alright. We'll talk once we get to know one another better," She turned pointedly to Blaine. "Kurt said he would be willing to help you around the house from time to time," Blaine glanced to Kurt with a smile on his face, very light, and nodded slowly. Kurt had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, like something more was going on here. It almost felt like Quinn was using her kindness as a way of guilt tripping him into staying and helping.

Kurt didn't think that he could trust a person who gave up their home and money so easily. There was something very wrong with this whole set up and as much as Kurt was freaked out with his situation, the idea of staying in this house was even weirder. He needed to leave and find someone who could help him.

The rest of dinner was very quiet, no one really saying much to anyone else. Blaine talked to Quinn about the horses and tried to bring Kurt into the conversation. Kurt mainly stayed quiet, smiling softly as comments were directed at him. Blaine was an interesting character to watch. He was animated and the accent added to his air, but Kurt refused to let himself to lose his resolve. He needed to remain cautious, no matter how alluring that damn accent was. Blaine talked with every part of his body; his hands, eyebrows, nose and used them all to illustrate even the most mundane tale.

Kurt wondered what Blaine's story was. He was more than likely the lover mentioned in the plaques and wondered if he and Madam Quinn were involved yet. But why was a Scottish man hiding out in a house in France?

His eyes turned to Quinn, who was another mystery. She was very… strange. Her manners were prim and proper but she had a cynical tilt to her eyes as she watched Blaine speak. Once her gaze turned to Kurt and caught and held him for a moment and Kurt could have sworn she was trying to tell him something, but the connection broke and she looked back to Blaine who commanded her attention.

Dinner finished and Brittany hurried the dishes away with a dazed look. She looked cheerful enough and Kurt wondered if she was one of the people taken in by Quinn or just a simple scullery girl. Judging by the fact she sounded Irish he guessed that she might have a story as well. Quinn finished what she was saying to Blaine before standing. Blaine stood immediately and sent Kurt a glare that obviously meant he needed to do the same.

Kurt got to his feet, feeling incredibly tired. Quinn came around the table and offered her arm to Kurt once more. "I'm sure this must all be so much for you to deal with. A nice long sleep is what you need," she turned to Blaine with a structured nod. "I will see you in the morning Blaine. Sleep well."

Blaine nodded once. "Yes, goodnight Madam Fabray, Laddie," Kurt returned the nod and went up the stairs to the rooms. He brought Quinn to the sea-foam blue room from before, having read that this was the master bedroom on one of the plaques and let go of her arm.

Quickly he threw a smile onto his lips. "Thank you, Quinn, for your hospitality. I only wish I knew how to return the favor."

She brushed him aside. "It is no problem dear. I like taking care of people," Kurt had the feeling that statement wasn't all that true. There was something behind that pretty smile, he could just feel it. And no, he wasn't being paranoid. Something seemed very wrong about this whole situation - besides the obvious.

With a soft curtsey Quinn left him to get settled in his room. There were clothes waiting. A soft undershirt-nightgown and a few flairless pants and shirts, none of them really Kurt's style but they would do. Kurt settled for touring the room, checking out the books that were lining the walls, while he waited for his moment to slip away. Midnight soon came and went and the entire house seemed dead.

Kurt finally acted, dressing in the longest pair of pants in the group and a darker shirt all the while trying not to cringe as the horrible feel of the cloth against his skin. He slipped out of the room and down the hallway to the stairs, keeping his feet at light as possible so as to not make the floors creak. His heart pounded in his chest as he made his way through the darkness.

Within moments the door was in sight and Kurt could almost touch it. He reached out slowly and had just barely grasped the handle when a voice spoke behind him.

"That door is louder than a banshee scream, especially at night. Ye'd be wise to go through one o' the windows if ye're desperate to get out."

Kurt jumped sky high, spinning around to find whoever had spoken. Finally, his gaze landed on Blaine who was silhouetted in the window. "You scared the shit out of me," Kurt hissed venomously.

Blaine chuckled and took a step forward, "I hope not," He fell silent for a moment, obviously waiting for Kurt to speak.

"Did Madam Fabray station you here or something?" Kurt bit angrily.

"No, no. She dinna put me up to anything," Blaine replied, moving closer so that he was more in the shadows.

"Then why are you here? To get me in trouble?" The brunette hissed, feeling trapped.

"Nothing like tha'," Blaine murmured softly. "I'm just here to talk some sense into ye. Ye're obviously out o' yer normal surroundings, I remember that feeling well. But ye're safe here. Madam Fabray has good intentions. She likes to take care o' strays and get them back on their feet. She'll ask nothing from ye."

Kurt stared at the murky shadow of the shorter man. "But don't you think that's strange?" He hissed.

The shadow of Blaine shrugged his shoulders. "Some people have kind intentions. It is just who they are. Madam Fabray is one of them. She's never asked anything o' me and gives me room and board and in return I tend to the house," He was silent for another moment. "If ye wish to leave that's fine. Madam Fabray won't hold it against ye. But, do so in the morn'. The streets are dangerous for everyone once the sun goes down."

Kurt stared hard that the shadow before thrusting his nose into the air. "And I should listen to you, why?"

Blaine chuckled, the dark sound causing a traitorous ripple to run through Kurt's body. "I've been in this city longer than ye have. I know a thing or two. But if ye think ye're up to actually going out there now, then by all means. I'll tell Madam Fabray in the morning that ye've gone."

Kurt glared at Blaine for the longest time, weighing his options. He could leave now and fend for himself in a city he didn't know in a time he doesn't know without obvious shelter. Or he could stay at the bastide where he had food and shelter and references to use when it came to being historically accurate. Finally he gave a dramatic huff and pushed passed Blaine's shadow, stomping back up the stairs.

Down below Kurt heard Blaine chuckle once more and call softly. "G'night laddie," and Kurt bristled again. People shouldn't be allowed to have accents and voices that soft, it seemed indecent and horribly cruel to the people of the world who were attracted to that sort of thing. There was something about Blaine that freaked Kurt out a little, but then again, this entire situation freaked Kurt out. Things like this just didn't happen to nice guys like him.

He made his way back to the room and closed the door softly, breathing an agitated sigh. Kurt just wanted to be home. He wanted this strange dream to end.

A thought struck him then. What if this actually _really_ was a dream and he was just so into it that he needed to actually go to sleep in the dream and that way he'd wake up back in his room in the 21st century. It was strange and the rational part of Kurt's mind told him this wouldn't work but he was desperate to try anything he possibly could to escape this strange dream.

Quickly Kurt slipped into the cool sheets and let out a soft sigh. He curled into a ball and almost immediately he was asleep. The pressure of time and stress had taken a toll on him so it was nice to finally rest. His dreams were muddled and filled with clues that he was sure he wasn't going to remember in the morning. Those dreams were also filled with hazel eyes and dark hands pressed again white silk while a dark voice whirled through his mind and body, causing his breath to come in sharp gasps.

Soft brown eyes watched from the doorway while a pretty, feminine mouth curved into a frown. "I'm so sorry," she whispered before closing the door and making her way to her own room.

* * *

><p>I am so glad that there have been so many people interested in this story. This is growing more and more fun by the chapter and I'm having the best time writing Scottish!Blaine. I know Kat, who is my amazing beta (pocketwatchesandbowties . tumblr . com), absolutely loves her some Scottish!Blaine.<p>

I'm getting very excited for the next couple of chapters and I hope you stick around for the.

Please remember to drop me a review/comment or whatever and tell me what you think (I would be lying if I said I didn't love them). Don't forget to say hi at my tumblr (antifairytale . tumblr . com)

Until next time!


	3. Introducing the Lady of Lesser Morals

**Title:** Out of Time

**Author:** antifairytale

**Rating:** NC-17 (For later chapters)

**Word count:** 4,300+ (12,000+)

**Warnings:** Swearing, mentions of prostitution and slavery, homophobia, sexual situations

**Summary:** When given the chance to take a break from work Kurt Hummel flies off to France and ends up stuck in the 19th century, lost in a foreign time with no idea how to get back, caught in a web of lies and seduction that could end up costing him his life.

**Notes:** Glossary for some words will be found at the bottom after author's notes

.03

Introducing the Lady of Lesser Morals

When Kurt woke the next morning he knew immediately that he was definitely not in his personal room or his room in Marseille. So that meant that he obviously hadn't been dreaming and very, _very_ stuck in this new time. Which basically meant he was screwed. Kurt sat up slowly with a tired groan of, "Fuck," and buried his hands in his face. A moment later there was a timid knock at his door. "Yeah?" Kurt called, not moving his hands away.

The door clicked open and someone stepped in. "'Morning monsieur," said the soft voice of Brittany. "Are you not feeling well?"

Kurt looked up to her slowly with a tired expression. "No, no. I'm fine," he glanced to the bowl in her hands. "What's that for?"

"Wash your face and shave if you needed," Brittany replied, standing in the center of the room, a good distance from Kurt along but also an equal distance from the door.

"So, there's no running water apparently," Kurt murmured.

"'Scuse me?" Brittany asked, tilting her head to the side. With another dazed sigh Kurt shook his head.

"It's nothing, thank you Brittany," He thought that was enough to send her away but she stayed where she was. "Can I help you?" Kurt tried not to snap, but he felt that he had right seeing as he was stuck 200 years in the past with no idea how to get home.

"Madam Fabray wanted me to tell you that breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes and when you get down there she'd like to talk to you."

Kurt nodded slowly and threw off his covers. "Thank you Brittany," she curtsied and left the room after that. He made his way to the other end of the room where Blaine's clothes were jumbled in a pile. Kurt sorted through them methodically, finding the longest pair of pants he could along with a shirt that would fit his shoulders. What he ended up with was probably the least flattering thing that he could have ever worn. The legs were an inch too short and a horrible brown color while the shirt was just a little too large in the chest and short in the arms. Kurt put up with it, giving a long suffering sigh before leaving the room to wander downstairs.

Quinn was sitting in the southern parlor when Kurt arrived. She looked up at him with a brilliant smile until she saw his outfit and then it immediately clouded. "Well, it's not too bad," Kurt raised an eyebrow. "All right, it's perfectly dreadful. I'm sure we could go to the tailor today," Kurt was half tempted to tell her to give him a book on the fashion of the time and some material and he'd make his own clothes, but decided against it.

The lady of the house got to her feet daintily and checked the clock on the wall. "Breakfast will be ready in a moment. Shall we?" She gave Kurt her arm and took him to the breakfast table. It was apparently only them that morning and they stayed silent as they picked at the light meal. Kurt eyed the spot that Blaine had been sitting at the previous night but he was obviously missing and even though he told himself he didn't care, he found himself wondering about where he was.

Once done with breakfast Quinn stood up and Kurt followed. "I have a bit of business to attend to this morning but once I'm done we can go out. You can get more acquainted with the house if you want. There's a garden out back if you want a breath of fresh air or you could try the library. I'm quite proud of my collection, you know."

Kurt smiled at Quinn tightly and left the table quickly. He felt tired today, but not in as much pain as he'd been the last few days. Today he was worried. What if time was still passing back in the future? What if he wasn't able to get home soon and he didn't return from his trip at the right time? What about his family? Those thoughts whirled through his mind and to say that they scared him was a vast understatement. All he wanted was to go back home where it was safe and he knew what he was doing.

Desperate to get out of the house Kurt slipped out to the garden which was in full bloom. It was absolutely gorgeous and obviously well-tended. A main pathway meandered from the house to a central area with a gazebo covering it. Other smaller stone pathways wound away from the path, farther into the garden. Trees lined the edge of the property, separating the bastide from the Jardin de la Magalone. Posts rose up along the pathways and over the years vines had wrapped themselves around the wood, clinging for dear life. Rose bushes dotted the ground, surrounded by beautiful lilies and irises and rosemary bushes. Trees spread their branches far over the walkways, created secret little shadowed areas, perfect for a secret tryst.

Kurt absently wondered if Quinn had a gardener or if she took care of these blossoms herself. Carefully he slipped down the walk of the house that didn't exist in the future. It was old and worn down then and the garden had been leveled to make room for a gift shop.

Kurt finally found a nice bench settled near the center of the garden and sighed, sinking his face into his hands again. He stayed in that position for a number of minutes, mind racing, until he heard a dark chuckle from somewhere in his vicinity. Kurt was starting to get very tired of that chuckle and the way it sent a shiver up his spine.

Kurt lifted his head and narrowed his eyes at Blaine who was watching him from about ten feet away. He was leaning against a post with a trowel in his hand and his shirt partially unbuttoned. The day was barely new and he already looked like he'd worked a full afternoon the way his curls were plastered to his forehead and sweat beaded against his skin. "What?" Kurt snapped irritably.

"Ach, Nothing. I'm jest rememberin' that it's been a while since I've seen another man wearing my clothes," Blaine mused. "They really don't fit ye, ye ken. I liked the other outfit ye had on yesterday."

Kurt bristled at him, not liking the way that Blaine was talking. "It's not my fault that your growth is stunted."

Blaine's nose scrunched and his lips pursed into a frown, his back straightening to stand at his full height. "I'm plenty tall for a Scot. Ye jest are too tall."

Kurt rolled his eyes at the man. "Yes, you keep deluding yourself," He didn't mention that he found Blaine's height just fine and that he hated how Blaine's clothes fit him so well. Why couldn't guys in the 21st century look like him and have that accent?

With a sigh Blaine moved closer. "I'm guessin' we got off on the wrong foot earlier. Can we try again? My name is Blaine."

Kurt lifted a sarcastic eyebrow. "And you don't have a last name?"

Blaine shrugged. "Anderson. And ye are?"

"Not amused," Kurt found he enjoyed taking his anger and frustration out on Blaine by being sarcastic. It made him feel so much better even if it seemed to annoy Blaine.

"Ye are a hard case, ye ken," Blaine murmured tiredly, leaning back on his heels. Kurt's eyebrow rose artistically. There was something so weird about Blaine. He was too friendly, like Quinn. Kurt was pretty certain that the people of 19th century France were not known for their bright and friendly personalities. From what little he remembered from tenth grade world history there was strife among the classes.

"I'd say the same about you and Quinn," Kurt finally said, mirroring Blaine by leaning back and crossing a leg over his knee daintily. "I don't know how to figure either of you out."

Blaine's jaw clicked slightly and his eyes narrowed. "I pity the person that made ye so unwilling to trust."

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back the angry comment that he was so ready to throw at Blaine. The Scotsman only watched him with a sad tilt to his lips. Finally Blaine licked his lips, preparing to speak again. "I did not come out here with the intent to upset ye. Only to offer ye a friendly shoulder to lean on. I wasn't lying when I told ye that I know what being displaced is like."

Kurt sighed and watched Blaine for a moment. He was obviously sincere but it was strange for Kurt to have someone he didn't even know act like this towards him. Finally he straightened his back and held out his hand to Blaine, watching with interest as the man's eyes opened wide, shocked. Kurt knew that if he was going to be stuck here he needed to at least have someone on his side.

"Kurt Hummel, it's a pleasure to meet you Blaine Anderson."

Blaine's eyes lit up like it was Christmas and he immediately grasped Kurt's hand, holding it tenderly but giving a strong shake. Kurt immediately noticed how strong Blaine's hand was and pulled away, giving him a curt nod. There was something in Blaine's gaze as he watched him that made Kurt want to take a step forward toward him.

"Kurt, are you out here dear?" Quinn's voice called and Blaine all but jumped away, almost knocking into a pole with a vine growing up it.

Quinn appeared at Blaine's elbow with an arched eyebrow and an almost accusing look on her face. "Blaine. I thought I asked you to fix the door to the wine cellar?"

Blaine grinned back at her. "Yes, yes ye did. I jest, got a little lost. I'll tend to that now," He shot a glance back Kurt before trotting away, whistling brightly.

Quinn turned her attention to Kurt and immediately a smile melted onto her lips. "Was Blaine bothering you? He has trouble with keeping his social graces sometimes. His mouth gets the better of him."

"He wasn't bothering me at all," Kurt assured her, rubbing his hand a little as it tingled.

Quinn's lips blossomed into a smile. "Wonderful. Now, let's get to the tailors. I can't let a handsome man like you run around in such unfit clothing," She offered her arm to him and Kurt took it immediately. The blonde ushered him outside to a waiting coach which started off down the road once they were settled.

Kurt stared out the window, amazed. This was his first time seeing the actual city how it used to be. To him things seemed so much slower, less rushed by the sounds of honking horns or people yelling at one another. Poverty was evident on every street corner just like in his time and people still walked passed those souls without a second glance. Sometimes, someone would drop a coin at their feet but otherwise they were invisible.

As a fashion connoisseur Kurt's eye was immediately drawn to the clothing worn by those walking by their carriage. Many of the women walked around in elegant dresses that, while not fashionable in the 21st century, looked beautiful and gave them a grace that seemed to be sorely lacking in the future. Men dressed to fit with clothes that showed their social level, Many of the men he saw were wearing waistcoats and boots pulled over the legs of their breeches.

"I'm guessing that American fashion is far different than here," Quinn said sweetly, watching him through narrowed eyes.

Kurt turned to meet her gaze. "I wouldn't say that. People just have a different way of wearing their clothes."

Quinn seemed contented with his answer and turned back to looking outside. Kurt took a quick look over her dress - white with a high waist that came to below her chest and flowed out elegantly. The neck was cut low and the sleeves puffed around her shoulders and upper arms. Finally, a yellow bonnet covered her hair with a matching scarf draped over her shoulders. Kurt couldn't imagine any girl from his time wearing something like this when walking around the streets during the day.

They arrived minutes later at a little tailors shop with dresses displayed in the windows. Kurt got out first and held out his hand to help his new companion from the carriage. Inside the building a few women tottered around, hemming dresses and completing other tasks. In the back a man was being fitted and looked thoroughly bored.

Two women immediately swarmed Quinn, twittering over her dress and how stunning it looked on her. "Are you here for a new dress?" One woman asked.

Quinn shook her head lightly with a small smirk to her lips. "No, no. I'm here for my friend, Monsieur Hummel. He's fresh from the boat from America and in desperate need of new clothes. Spare no expenses."

Two sets of eyes turned on Kurt, evaluating him. Slowly the women began circling Kurt, examining him from top to bottom and murmuring to one another in quick voices. Kurt only stood there, letting them work. Apparently people in the fashion world hadn't changed their methods much over the years. Finally he sighed and gave them his measurements since he knew them by heart. "I actually think I look best in blues and various shades thereof," Kurt told them, trying to speed up the process.

Very soon after Kurt found himself on the pedestal wearing a pair of tight fitting blue breeches which were being taken in, along with a white shirt and coat for formal wear. He was also fitted for casual trousers and coats and shirts for every day wear. The entire process lasted far too long for Kurt's liking but in the end, as he was turned towards the mirror he was thoroughly impressed.

Kurt actually looked like a gentleman with white trousers that came high up and accented his waist. A blue vest encased his chest and underneath there was white shirt with high neck. Finally a coat was added on top with padded shoulders and left unbuttoned. Kurt actually found himself gaping at his reflection. He looked _amazing_. Too bad he'd never be able to pull something like this off back in his time.

Quinn appeared at his side with a brilliant grin on her face. "Kurt, you look lovely! Far better than you did in Blaine's clothes."

Kurt stepped off the pedestal and spun round in the mirror once more, loving how everything looked on him. Suddenly the thought hit him, _what would Blaine think?_ He knew that Blaine most likely would not care but still, there was something in Blaine's eyes that made Kurt think there was a touch of interest in him. But he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He'd heard about how men with homosexual tendencies were treated in past centuries and that was the last thing he needed to deal with.

He was focused on getting home, not getting with the hired help.

"Thank you Quinn. You have no idea how I appreciate this," Kurt sighed, turning to face the woman.

Quinn waved him away, "My pleasure dear." She then turned to the ladies. "Please have Monsieur Hummel's order sent to the bastide and put it on my bill. I will pay at the end of the month as always," The girls curtsied at Quinn and hurried away. Almost by instinct Kurt gave his arm to Quinn and she took it, leading him back outside. "What do you say to shoes next? It's just down the street a little. The walk will do us good."

Kurt agreed and they spent another great amount of time shopping for shoes. Finally lunch arrived and they found a café to take lunch. As they sipped their tea Quinn watched Kurt over the top of her cup. "You're adjusting to being here quite well," she commented.

Kurt's shoulders tensed but he kept his tone civil. "Ah, well, I suppose it hasn't quite hit me."

Quinn gave him a reassuring smile. "Yes, I suppose I can understand that. It's a strange situation but it'll catch up sooner or later," she paused for a moment. "Now that we're alone why don't you tell me about your family?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes at her, trying to figure out why she was so adamant to know about his family. Finally he decided to speak, but keep it simple. "My mother died when I was young and I live with my father. He's a mechanic," Quinn's eyebrows went up.

"So he works on machines? Locomotives and such?" Kurt guessed that meant cars weren't around yet and decided to go with it, so he nodded. "An admirable profession. Was he a good man?"

Kurt smiled softly. "Yes, a very good man. But I felt like a burden to him. I would cost him too much money."

"Another reason why you left, am I correct?" Quinn ventured and Kurt nodded. "Well, once you are settled let's send your father a letter, let him know you're safe."

Kurt allowed a sad smile to touch his lips. "Yes, that would be nice. Thank you Quinn," she only beamed at him and went back to her lunch.

They arrived back at the bastide closer to dinner time after shopping around town and taking in the city. Quinn had taken it upon herself to be his personal tour guide and showed him all the most beautiful places of the city. Kurt recognized many of them from brochure but many other places had long since disappeared by the 21st century arrived.

Quinn excused herself to freshen up for dinner and left Kurt in the main entry way. He, in turn went up to his new room, and noticed that his clothes had arrived. There was a mirror in Kurt's room opposite his bed and he glanced at his reflection once more. He really did look good. "What would my father say if he could see me like this," he mused to himself.

Quinn knocked on his door for him to go with her downstairs for dinner. It was apparently only them that evening and they ate quietly, apparently having run out of things to talk about during lunch. When they parted after dinner Quinn went back to her room, not feeling well, and left Kurt to his own devices.

He settled for wandering around again and eventually met Brittany standing in an alcove. "Brittany? Is everything okay?" Kurt ventured coming close to her.

"I sneezed," Brittany murmured, eyes wide and worried.

"And?" Kurt pressed.

"No one blessed me," she whispered.

Kurt stared at her for a moment before he realized that she was obviously very superstitious. "Oh, well, bless you… I guess," Brittany stared at him in awe before curtsying.

"Thank you monsieur!" She said over her shoulder before hurrying toward the kitchens.

Kurt grinned after the girl and stepped away, looking for the western parlor. He'd decided to look through each room carefully to learn the building earlier. It was a chance to learn about a place he could only access through museums. If he was actually going to be stuck here he might as well take advantage of the chance.

The western parlor was filled with soft couches and statues and artwork. It was a more casual than some of the other rooms in the house. Kurt settled on one of the couches to peruse a thick tome while enjoying the setting sun through the large, picturesque windows. About twenty minutes later there came a soft knocking behind him. Kurt glanced over the back of the couch and spotted Blaine lounging in the doorway.

Almost immediately he grew a little self-conscious. Why wouldn't he? Blaine was good looking, even if he was off limits. It wasn't bad for Kurt to want to look good.

"I see shopping went well," Blaine commented lightly.

"Hmm?" Kurt asked, turning and getting to his feet. "How so?"

Blaine was silent for a moment. His face was partially covered by shadows but Kurt could have sworn he'd seen those hands clench and unclench at his sides as his eyes flickered over Kurt's frame. As his glance came up their eyes met for the second time that day and there was a definite fire that scared Kurt. He'd never felt a spark before from just a glance, especially when he knew the guy was completely off limits. And this could be dangerous.

Finally Kurt pulled his gaze away and Blaine coughed slightly. "All the clothes that arrived, I just assumed it was… a good outing," There was a beat of silence before Blaine murmured. "As much as I enjoyed the eccentricity of the clothes from yer arrival I think these ones fit ye much better."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Kurt challenged, trying to figure out what Blaine was trying to achieve here.

"Verra much so," Blaine replied simply. Kurt forced himself not to blush and looked away.

Blaine was an enigma. After years of living in New York Kurt was proud to say he could pick out a gay man a mile away. It was something he'd trained himself to do after years of being repressed in Ohio. Blaine didn't give off any of the usual indicators but Kurt didn't know if the ones he spotted still applied in 19th century society. And it wasn't exactly like he could go up to Blaine and say, "Hi, I think you're ridiculously sexy. Wanna make out?" He'd read Jane Austin, he knew how society was supposed to work.

Plus, there was the problem that Blaine probably didn't even have an ounce of interest towards men. He could just be one of those people who acted very sweet and friendly to all people, regardless of gender. But there was something in those eyes when they caught Kurt's, something more than interest in the strange new boy from America.

Or that could just be his over-active imagination working in tandem with his wishful thinking and hormones. He was known for romanticizing almost every guy he found interesting.

"Say, laddie-" Blaine started, but was cut off as a loud bell resounded down the hall causing both men to jump. Brittany hustled passed them to their door and both men waited to hear who was there. What they didn't expect was the shrill scream that Brittany gave off.

Feet thundered through the house as all servants and guests hurried to find out what was wrong. Kurt and Blaine pushed through the crowd to find Brittany holding up a dark haired woman with a torn dress and bruises marring her skin.

Blaine moved forward first to hold up the woman's other side. Quinn pushed through a moment later and immediately sprang into action. "Blaine, Kurt, get her upstairs," She felt the woman's forehead. "She has a fever. Brittany, I want you to tend to her, bring water to the room."

Kurt slipped forward to take Brittany's place and help bring the woman up the stairs. They placed her in the red suite closer towards Quinn's room and Brittany pushed in immediately afterwards bearing a bowl of water and a cloth. Both men slipped back to let the girl work as Quinn came in looking worried. She set to work instructing Brittany on what to do while shuffling the boys out of the room.

Once the door had closed behind them Kurt turned to the shorter man, his eyebrows knit together. "Who was that woman?"

"From the state of her dress…" He trailed off. "I would guess she is a, well, _lady of lesser morals_. A woman from one of the brothels."

Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "A prostitute? How do you know?"

"Aye. Their dresses are more… alluring," Blaine ventured. "Though I'm afraid to find out how the lassie ended up like this. Normally the brothels work hard to keep them safe."

"Will she be okay?" Kurt asked softly.

Blaine shrugged. "I dinna ken. We will see tomorrow morning. Goodnight laddie," Blaine said, touching a hand to Kurt's shoulder and moving away. Kurt's breath caught in his throat at the touch and a shiver jolted its way down his spine. Kurt turned to watch him as he slipped into his room and shut the door. Finally Kurt let his shoulders slump and went to his room, trying not to think about the woman in the other room with the torn dress and bruises on her face.

* * *

><p>I want to thank everyone for commenting and leaving me notes and everything! I am really loving writing this story and playing with the idea of my Scottish Blaine. Once again, my beta, Kat, is beautiful and deserves so much love. (pocketwatchesandbowties . tumblr . com)<p>

I am heading off to college within the next week so, so I won't be able to post the next chapter until the week after next (sorry!) I hope that once things settle down I can continue to update at a regular pace. Things are definitely going to be heating up within the next few chapters.

Reviews and comments are always loved and appreciated. I would be lying if I said I didn't love hearing from everyone who reads this story and my other.


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